Rain pattered against the sill of the little rented flat in Oxford. Andrew watched as the droplets traced intricate designs on the glass. In the kitchen, the clink of crockery announced Emilys routine of washing the cups after supper.
Tea? she asked.
Sure.
He knew the rhythm of her steps through every room; nine years had already slipped by, nearly a third of his life. They had first met in the second year of their journalism course, sharing a cramped university hall.
Back then life was simple: lectures, latenight conversations, the first stir of romance without any grand gestures. They moved in together far too early, Andrew would later admit. No courtship, no proposaljust the day his things stopped returning to the dormitory.
Emily set a mug of mint tea before him and slipped into the seat opposite.
My mother called. She asked about your project, she said.
What did you tell her? he asked.
That youre, as always, a perfectionist and that progress is slow, Emily replied with a smile. Her mother, Margaret Whitaker, had always treated Andrew kindly, never hinting at weddings or grandchildren. She was a remarkable woman, and even their friends couldnt resist asking, Why dont you two get married? One of their old classmates had just run into Emily, and the question resurfaced.
Do you remember Albert Kingston? Andrew said suddenly.
Emily raised an amused eyebrow.
Again? Hes your benchmark.
No. Hes just a reminder that a couple can spend fortyseven years together without ever printing a stamp on a marriage certificate, or they can throw an opulent wedding and divorce a year later.
True, a stamp guarantees nothing. The statistics are on your side, Emily murmured.
Exactly, Andrew agreed, taking a sip of tea and watching the rain.
Lucy from HR is getting divorcedher third marriage. She swears each time shell finally settle, Emily said softly. We havent even started, and yet were still together.
Yes. Still together, Andrew replied, a grin tugging at his lips.
He knew Emily sometimes dreamed of children. She never voiced it outright, but he noticed how she lingered at the shop windows displaying baby clothes and how her eyes lit up at the sight of toddlers in the park. He, too, felt the pull now and thenthough not in this cramped flat, not with his erratic freelance design commissions. Perhaps someday.
Im afraid Ill end up like my parents, he confessed suddenly. You know how they spent their whole lives maintaining the illusion of a proper familyfor neighbours, for relatives, for themselvesyet they never truly spoke to each other.
Emily placed her hand over his palm.
Youre not your father. And Im not my mother, though shes a good woman. We are simply us.
But if we were to marry he faltered.
If we marry, nothing will change, Andrew. At most my surname will shift in the passport. Well still bicker over unwashed dishes, still laugh at rubbish sitcoms, youll still fall asleep over a laptop, and Ill still swaddle you in a blanket.
He looked at the fine lines that had appeared around Emilys eyes over the years, the familiar birthmarks on her neck, the hands he knew better than his own.
Children? he asked quietly.
Emily sighed.
Children I dont know if I want them right now. Am I afraid I wont have time? Sometimes. But if I ever want them, it would be with you, and only if you want the same. No ultimatums, Andrew.
She rose, gathered the cups, and said, Lucy told me today she envies us. She says were realno masks, no games. Even without a stamp.
They sat in companionable silence, listening to the rain.
A week later Emily met her younger sister, Sophie, in a café. Sophie had married two years ago and was now six months pregnant.
How are you? Sophie asked, cutting into a slice of cheesecake with gusto. Sorry, Im eating like a fool. This baby is running the whole show.
Same as always, Emily smiled. Work, home, Andrew.
Sophie set down her spoon, fixing her sister with an earnest gaze.
Emily I dont mean to pry, but have you two decided anything? Its been almost ten years. I got married to Sam after a year and a half, and everyone kept saying we were dragging our feet.
Were different, Soph. Were not dragging. Were just living, Emily replied.
But you want a family? Kids? Soph placed a hand on her belly. I used to think I wasnt ready, but when I saw those two little linessuch a rush of love, such happiness Dont be scared. The maternal instinct awakens as soon as the child becomes real.
Im not scared of children, Emily said softly. Nor of marriage. What scares me is doing it because its time or because everyone else is doing it. Andrew and I have our own story. It may not look like yours, but its ours, and its genuine.
What if he never feels ready? Sophie whispered. Im sorry, I just worry for you.
Emily reached across the table and squeezed her sisters hand.
The worst thing would be if he did it just for the sake of ticking a box, she said. Id feel that. But Im happy with him every day, even when we argue. Isnt that enough?
A tear glistened on Sophies lash as she breathed out. Sorry, its just hormones. I just want the best for you.
I already have it, Emily replied, smiling. Cheesecake, a sister, and Andrew waiting at home.
A few days later Andrews father, John Whitaker, turned up unexpectedly. Their contact had been limited to brief holiday phone calls. John surveyed the modest flat, took the offered chair, and said, How are you, son? Mum sends her regards.
Fine, busy with work, Andrew answered.
And Emily?
Shes at the office. Should be home by seven.
An uneasy pause settled. John fidgeted with the old set of keys to his vintage Mini.
Listen, lad I might be out of line, but Mums been worrying. We saw on social media that Sophies expecting. The pictures are lovely, he said, his voice softening.
Andrew felt a knot tighten in his chest.
Dad, if youre talking about marriage and children
No, no, John waved a hand, though his eyes betrayed the topic. I just look at you two. Nine years togetheranyone would call that serious. I want you to know I think youve done well, that you havent repeated our mistakes.
Andrew lifted his gaze, surprised.
My parents married because I was already near the altar. And then they spent their lives reminding each other of what theyd given upYou stopped me from going to university, Your career stalled because of me. Silly, really. Were all to blame. A marriage certificate doesnt mend a cracked bond; sometimes it even keeps you together longer than you should, until resentment finally tears it apart.
Johns eyes held an uncharacteristic weariness.
Im not saying marriage is bad. Im saying you feel a weight of responsibility. Thats right. Its better to be honest than to play the perfect picture. Do you and Emily talk about it?
All the time, Andrew exhaled.
Good. The main thing is youre on the same wavelength. The rest will fall into placeor not. Its your decision, not because parents are waiting.
They chatted a bit more about business, and John declined dinner, citing work. As he left, Andrew asked, Dad, do you have any regrets?
John tugged at his coat, thought a moment.
Regretting marrying your mother? No. Regretting how we all ended up broken, yesevery day. Guard what you have, son. A stamp isnt armor.
That night Andrew recounted his fathers visit to Emily, who listened, hugging a cushion. She then said, You know, Sophie also stopped by with her questions.
And?
And I told her Im happy just as I am, she said.
He pulled her close, and the rain began again outside.
Theres still something Im missing, she whispered into his chest.
What? he asked, his heart skipping.
That you stop muttering to yourself when you lose at online chess at night, she teased.
Andrew laughed. Emily lifted her head, kissed him, and he realized their journey was not stalled. It moved slowly but steadily along a path they were laying themselves, day after day, conversation after conversation. The station called Forever might not be a point on any map; it was the road itself.
In those nine years theyd weathered his lows after failed design projects, her night shifts, three moves, and her mothers illnessemerging unbroken.
Emily, he said.
Mm?
Thank you for being you.
She turned, her smile the one he loved mosta little weary, yet warm.
I love you too, she replied.
Andrew went to the window, watched the distant streetlights flicker. He could not foretell what the next year, five years, ten years would bring, nor whether they would ever arrive at the imagined station where others expected them. He only knew that tomorrow morning he would awaken beside Emily.
